


If I Risk It All, Could You Break My Fall?

by Whatevergirl



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Based on deleted spectre script, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mostly off-screen torture, Q Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2018-12-30 14:59:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12111222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whatevergirl/pseuds/Whatevergirl
Summary: Instead of telling M that Bond had headed off to the Austrian Alps, Q decided the best way to deal with the situation would be to head out there himself and request the other man's return. What he didn't anticipate was being captured by Oberhauser to help locate Bond for them.Based on the deleted edition of the SPECTRE script where Q was kidnapped by Blofeld and beaten up in an attempt to make him find Bond for them.





	1. Chapter 1

“Just move.” He whispered to himself, wide eyes staring at the dark wall opposite. “They’ll be long gone by now. Just fucking move.”

The pep talk wasn’t doing much for his nerves, but Q tried to gasp down as much air as possible; he really couldn’t stay here, Bond wanted to know about the ring. The voices outside were just as loud as before, but the babbling of holiday makers gave him no hint about the location of the men. 

“Stop hiding and go.” He hissed, hands tightening on the strap of his bag. “Three, two, one… go.”

Taking a deep breath, the man opened the door and half threw himself into the crowds milling about. He didn’t dare glance around to see where they were, didn’t dare try to spot any danger… he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. 

Head down, he quickly left the building and headed out onto the streets, trotting just behind a crowd of what seemed to be college students and several enthusiastic teachers pointing out rock formations before breaking off to enter the hotel Pevsner. 

“Right.” He mumbled as he stripped off his outdoor gear, toeing off his boots and debating the benefits of a shower before Bond arrived. “No. Get this sorted then relax.”

He stuck his laptop on the table and switched it on before shuffling over to case to pull out the teabags he had brought with him. A hot drink would help him to think, to find the right words to say to Bond when he had to explain that Oberhauser was still alive. The boffin jammed his shoes under the radiators, turning the setting up on it to try and dry them out before pottering over to drop his teabag into a cup.

He should have known better than to doubt the man; Bond had amazing intuition. 

A knock on the door made Q jump. He glanced at his watch and frowned- it hadn’t been an hour yet. Moving over and picking up his laptop, he called out “Bond?” uncertainly. There was another knock, harder this time. Turning quickly, the quartermaster hurried into the bathroom and locked the door. 

“Shit.” He swore and sitting on the floor he worked to quickly send what he could of the files to Bond’s email address. It was his work one, which could easily be opened by Q Branch and the hotel’s Wi-Fi certainly wasn’t the thing to use, but he had no choice. Bond would need the options that information could bring.

There was a bang as the door into his room opened and the young man could hear people moving inside. He trembled as he stared at the single door separating him from those he didn’t want to meet. “Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.” Swearing, Q spun up onto his knees to plug the sink up and turn the tap on. 

There was shouting on the other side of the door, along with banging and threats to shoot the door if he didn’t open it for them. But despite the threats of violence, what frightened him the most was hidden in the things they were shouting. “Open up, Quartermaster! We need your help!” “Quartermaster, we need your help to locate a microchip in one of your lost dogs!” and so on.

They knew who he was.

There was a mole at MI6 who had told them he could track the agents… and he would bet anything that it was Bond they wanted, and that this all linked back to Oberhauser and the organisation that he ran. 

Three gunshots later and the door lay on the floor, but Q was ready for them. His laptop was drowning in the sink and he held one of the heavy glasses the hotel provided. 

He threw the glass into the face of the first man, apparently with enough force that he stumbled. It was enough for Q, who scurried past into the main room. There were three other men in the room, two of whom had tried to get Q on the ski lift. “Bugger.” He backed away, fear cutting away the logic he usually employed.

“Now, now.” Tutted the unfamiliar man as he stepped forward. “We have to be going. Come along.”

Q shoved the hand off him and tried to turn away, but the man grabbed him around his waist. He threw his head back and the man’s grip loosened enough for Q to escape… back into the backroom that no longer had even a door to protect it.

“I told you, Quartermaster. We have a rogue agent to find and it seems the programme to find him is locked to all but two people.” The man drew a Taurus handgun and smiled pleasantly at him. “We do have a flight to catch though.”

“No!” Q replied, gripping the overflowing sink behind him as his legs shook. He’d refused to tell M exactly where Bond was and there was no chance he was going to tell anyone else. He had a responsibility as Quartermaster to protect his agents, and more than that, he liked to consider Bond a friend. 

A shot permeated the air and Q dropped with a yelp, eyes wide as he stared at his ankle. He’d forgotten to put his boots back on… that thought was the only one he could hear over the roaring in his ears. Tears dripped from his eyes as he gasped desperately for air, curling over his damaged leg and letting out a wail. 

The man was talking again, but shock and pain blotted the noise out. Even so he did noticed when grabbed him and he began to struggle, limbs lashing out as they dragged him from the room. It was only when they were on the balcony that one of the men swore and a sharp knock sent him into blackness.

\------

“ _Why are you here, Q?”_

“ _Oh, I just fancied a break, to be honest. I’ve been a tad stressed at work recently._ ” Q’s voice had been light, as though they had been discussing nothing more than a chance meeting on a skiing holiday. “ _What with C’s people crawling all over us and the fact that M wants my balls for Christmas decorations._ ” 

Bond recalled the conversation as he pushed the door to room twelve open. It wasn’t locked; it hadn’t even been shut properly. Pausing for a moment, 007 listened carefully; he could hear the whistle of the wind, the steady drip of water onto a wet surface, the slight hum that came with older light fittings… but nothing else. He adjusted his grip on his gun before stepping silently into the room.

His stomach lurched as he glanced around and didn’t see Q, instead noting the blood that trailed from the bathroom to the broken window; a quick check of the room, though he didn’t expect anyone to be there still, and the agent motioned for Dr Swann to wait. 

The bathroom door was on the floor, removed by the hinges and Bond acknowledged the dread that was filling him. The dripping came from the sink, water seeping over the edges as the faucet trickled water onto a familiar laptop, the stickers on the lid unmistakable. 

“Q…” he whispered, moving back into the main room and over to the window. The balcony floor was covered in glass and on the snow laden ground below that, he could see evidence of their escape route… there was more blood leading up to tire tracks that were starting to fade in the light snow fall.

“Your colleague… Are you his best chance of staying alive?” The distrust still burnt fiercely in Dr Swann’s eyes, but her voice was soft as she took in the mess: the bathroom door on the floor, a drinking glass with blood over it and the furniture is disarray.

“My friend.” Bond corrected roughly. “He wasn’t here as a colleague, he was here as a friend.”

Guilt lanced though him as he moved back into the bathroom and picked up the laptop, turning the tap off and wrapping the machine in a towel that had been dropped next to the shower. 

“I could go ask for some rice.” Dr Swann was watching him dab at the laptop, pity in her eyes as she observed Bond’s frustrated body language.

The agent didn’t lift his eyes as he half-snapped “What?” at her, his mind flitting over all the things he could done to prevent this, starting with arming Q before he had left the clinic up to insisting on self-defence classes for the whole of Q Branch years ago. 

“It is good for drying out a wet phone without breaking it. Maybe it will work for larger objects.”

Q had only been here because he had been conflicted between obeying M and helping Bond, and he had been unwilling to give 007 up as rogue. Bond glanced around the room, spotting the small carry-on, a thick coat, and a chipped pair of glasses. 

“I think…” Dr Swann hesitated as she watched Bond dig through the carry-on, ignoring the spare clothing and the papers and the boxes of medication. “We can pick some rice up on our way out of here.”

Bond continued to ignore her as he found the case that he’d been looking for and carefully folded the arms up and placed the glasses inside to protect them from further damage. Q would want them when they found him.

“L’Americain is a place in Tangier. A hotel. We used to stay there.”

Bond wondered just how pathetic he looked on his knees with a glasses case clutched in his hands… enough so that Dr Swann had decided to help him, apparently. “Rice…” he said softly, recalling her earlier comments. 

“I do not know how you know my father, or what you hope to find there, but perhaps it will help your friend.”

Bond stood, gathered up the remains of Q’s possessions, including the boots that had been left to dry out under the room’s one radiator and left without saying a word. Dr Swann followed, keeping her silence until they were in a car and on their way to the airport. “The quickest way to Morocco is to fly to Switzerland and then to find a flight there. This is only a small airport with not many flights to such far places.”

Bond nodded, but didn’t answer, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Your friend… Q, you called him? Did he know what he would be walking into?”

And Bond actually considered the question. He had a tendency to think of Q as omniscient, perhaps not with regards to emotions and the reactions of those around him (which had amused Bond more than once over the years in Q Branch when he got told off for being insensitive by his bolder minions and he would struggle to understand his blunder), but certainly when it came to what people were actually up to and anything that could be accessed online. 

But Q honestly believed Oberhauser to be dead, naïvely trusting the treachery of an avalanche even though his body hadn’t been recovered. The certainty of youth, he wanted to scoff… but it wasn’t even that. Bond could remember telling the young quartermaster to let the past go, to live in the present and watch out for the future years ago, nearly a year after Mansfield had died and he had realised that Q was still battling guilt over her death. And when Bond had returned from a three month assignment after that, the bags under Q’s eyes had lessened and he was even smiling again; Bond had no idea if his comment had helped or if the other had simply found someone to actually speak to, but those words came back to him.

Let the past go, live in the present and beware the future… talk about conversations coming back to bite you in the ass, because now Bond’s past was catching up and he had no way to let it go.

“There is a store near here. We should stop and tidy ourselves up.” Dr Swann interrupted his brooding as she stared blandly out the window. 

Bond pulled into the carpark and stopped. “Do you need money?” and at the shake of her head continued “Go get what you need.”

She slipped out the door and walked over to the store, her steps a bit too hasty to hide her nerves as she scurried inside. As he waited, he pulled out his mobile phone, looking to see if he had any signal. He had a single text message waiting for him:

- _Check your email. Q_ -

\------

The first thing he noticed was the headache, a tight, deep pain that seemed to spread from the back of his neck up to his temples. His ears were ringing and his whole body felt sluggish, his lower right leg throbbed, the pain almost immediately demanding his attention.

“Shit. Wha’ happened?” Q slurred, trying to find the energy to lift his head and look around. 

“Awake already, Quartermaster? I thought you’d sleep through the flight.” The man’s tone was bored, as though he himself had been dozing while they flew.

The idea of flying clicked and Q’s eyes shot open. He was strapped into a seat in the back of what looked like a small cargo plane. Body still groggy even whilst it registered the pain, he squinted around to check who was there; at least three people, but he couldn’t see very well.

“Where my glasses?” He asked, tongue still heavy in his mouth as he looked to the man opposite him.

“My apologies, I didn’t think to pick them up. You were making such a fuss about coming with us…” There was a smirk in the man’s tone, even if he couldn’t see his face well enough to see it. 

Q frowned, desperately trying to recall how he had ended up here… he’d been going to go and talk with Bond in Austria… Had he done that yet? Was this the flight there? What had happened to his leg? He fought down a bout of nausea, distantly thankful that he was apparently too drugged up to panic about being in the air.

"Where are we going?" He asked, before shifting in his seat and instantly regretting it as his head and his leg objected. 

“Ernst Stavro Blofeld would like to speak to you.” The man began to chuckle slightly. “However, he claims you may have heard of him under the name Franz Oberhauser.” 

“He’s dead.” Q’s voice quivered slightly as he spoke, memories slowly but surely beginning to return. Oberhauser wasn’t dead. Bond had been right, the man was alive and in charge of some organisation that linked Le Chiffre, Greene, Silva and various others… and he was going to meet him. “Shit.”

There was a chuckle, and then Q felt a needle slide into his skin. If he’d been able, he probably would have sworn once more. 

\------

The journey to Morocco was uneventful, but it gave Bond time to think as he sat and relayed the information to Dr Swann in a quiet voice so the other passengers could not hear.

“There was a number of them, all linked by Oberhauser. Sciarra, Quantum, Silva…” He wondered if giving the ring to Q had been the cause of his kidnapping. “They were in an organisation, but that’s all he was able to send me.”

“Your friend, Q.” She gave him a tired smile, apparently still reading the guilt that he carried. “This organisation, my father was a part of it. SPECTRE, it is called.”

“SPECTRE? A name or an acronym?” He glanced around them, but no one was paying any attention as the aeroplane carried them closer to their destination. 

“It is the Special Executive for Counter-Intelligence, Terrorism, Revenge and Extortion.” The name was so ridiculous that Bond almost laughed, but it was clear that she was being serious. 

“And they want, what? To take down the British Government? To stop me? To take over the world?” 

“Nothing so obvious. My father once described them as Siamese Fighting Fish; if you have three together then one will hide away until the other two are done fighting, then when the victor is weakened it can make a move.”

“So this counts as hiding away?”

“I believe that in hiding they act from the shadows. But that is all I know. He never spoke to me about it in any detail.”

He nodded and leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting over to look out the window at the clouds as Dr Swann turned to speak with the man on the other side of her. In Rome, SPECTRE had been discussing their counterfeit pharmaceuticals in South Africa, they had mentioned human trafficking and an increase in surveillance that meant they could easily counteract government intelligence agencies. 

His mind drifted to the Joint Security Service that was underway in London. Would that be safe from this SPECTRE? It sounded like Q’s decision to hide away from everyone else by moving his Branch was an excellent one… but Bond rather regretted that the young man hadn’t stayed there.

“There have been bombings in Cape Town.” Dr Swann told him, her voice conversational, but she sat up when she noticed Bond frowning. “What’s the matter?”

“Just a hunch.” He replied, but he had a feeling he knew who had been behind the attack on South Africa. After all, Tanner had told him of the plans for absolute surveillance called Nine-Eyes, and Moneypenny had mentioned that the South Africans had been averse to the idea. Now, he supposed they would rather like the ability to keep an eye on their streets.

\------

“You must understand, Quartermaster, that of all the information we could be trying to wring out of you, James Bond’s location really isn’t such a big deal.”

Q had awoken to find himself in a bright, metal room. Oberhauser had spoken to him at length; Q had realised there was a mole at MI6 when he had realised that the men after him knew that he was the Quartermaster, but he now began to comprehend that it had to be someone with access to Q Branch and the developmental projects that were in use – more specifically, someone who knew about the Smart Blood Project, which really shouldn’t have been given to Bond yet as it hadn’t finished the necessary trials. 

“We could gain access to all of James’ files, we could dig up all the information that you have squirrelled away on his bolt-holes. What we want however, is accessible only by two people; yourself and M.”

It wasn’t Oberhauser asking the questions, he had left earlier on when someone had arrived and murmured into his ear, but the man talking now had a pleasant mask to hide his cold eyes; Q knew this because more than once he had crouched close enough for the captive man to see him in detail. 

He could barely feel the pain in his leg anymore, the adrenaline coursing through him enough to blot out that distraction. 

“Quartermaster?” The man was crouched before him again, leaning forward to take his hand. “I don’t want to hurt you, but please understand that we need to find James Bond.”

“N-no.” Q whimpered, pulling his hand back, then yelping when he was backhanded across the face. 

“I’m under instructions to gain access in any way that I can, so please understand that I will indeed do so.” Q was picked up off the ground and slammed into the wall. “I only have to leave your hands intact. It’s not much of a setback.”

“I refuse.” He said, voice shaky but resolute. The eyes before him were frightening, but Q stood up to Double-0 agents on a regular basis; he kept his own expression bland and his breathing even.

“The security you have placed within your servers is good, we’ve been unable to get past it. Shame you didn’t do the same for yourself.” One arm pressing down on Q’s throat, the other pulled back to strike a blow to his ribs.

Q shook his head in response, jerking at the pain but stubborn in his refusal. The man punched him again and the young man let out a whimper of pain. 

“You should just agree. Blofeld has a machine that can dig into your brain; I expect that a clever young man such as yourself wouldn’t enjoy that.”

“B-B-bite me.” He hissed, wondering briefly who Blofeld was (the name was familiar but he couldn't bring the reason why into any kind of clarity) before another fist stole his concentration.

There was a hot breath on his ear as the man pressed in too close. “James Bond is a big boy, he can take care of himself, no? Give us access to the Smart Blood, get us into the MI6 servers and you can have a rest.”

“H-He’s ripped out every tracker I’ve ever put in him. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s found time to have some kind of dialysis to remove this new one.”

The man pulled away and began to drag Q behind him and into another room. It was stiflingly hot in here and there was a sink of water against one wall with the tap still running.

“It- It may have broken now anyway. That project was only developmental and it had glitches. I imagine it may have shut down by now.” His voice was high and reedy as they forced him to his knees. 

He didn’t have a fear of water… and he really didn’t want to gain one.

\------

“This is where they spent their wedding night.” Dr Swann’s face was sad, a wistful nostalgia etched across it. “They came back every year, then they brought me with them too. He kept coming back, even after the divorce.”

“Well then, I’m… sorry.” He replied awkwardly as he looked around the suite they had in L’Americain and acknowledging that he was more than willing to tear it apart if he could help Q.

“What for?” She cocked her head curiously as she watched him look around.

He pointed over to the bottle that had been brought up with them. “Have a drink. There’s wine on the table.” 

She hesitantly poured herself a glass, her actions uncertain as Bond began to pull open drawers and turn over furniture. 

“He must have sent me here for a reason.” He murmured. For something more than sentiment. The cupboard was empty apart from a few empty hangers, and the drawers had a few spare blankets in but nothing else.

Dr Swann reached over and poured herself another glass as she sat against the footboard of the bed to watch him. However, Bond paid her no mind, she had done her part in leading him the L’Americain so now it was up to him to move forward. 

None of the seating had anything down the sides, there were no floorboards under the rug but the same stone floor that covered the rest of the suite. The small, extra bedroom off to the side held no answers, nor did the bathroom. All he did encounter was an old bottle of vodka with the label peeled off.

In fact, it wasn’t until a mouse woke him later on that Bond caught a break. It’s scurrying on the stone floor had woken Bond from his uneasy doze in a chair and he watched the rodent as it ran into a mouse hole under the desk, and in doing so drawing his attention to the hollow wall. He found his answers in a room that had been sealed off. It was grotty, and White must have been working with the management to keep this room hidden from anyone who came across this hotel.

He stepped in, ignoring Dr Swann as she followed, having apparently woken when he had broken through the layer of plaster, and set about searching; there had to be a way to find Oberhauser in here, White had worked for him for years, there had to have been contact between them.

Fake IDs, money, old cyphers and notes written out neatly on now yellowed paper, several video tapes, including one labelled as a recording of Vesper Lynd’s interrogation. He dropped it and turned away as fear for what Q was going through flared up again. Was it his connection to Bond that had caused them to take him, or did they know he was head of Q Branch? (Did they see him as valuable enough to keep alive, but no – Bond refused to even consider that line of thought!) Was he simply being held as bait for Bond, or were they torturing him for information? Now was not the time to linger on such thoughts. 

He flicked on an old computer, a hint of a smile fluttering at his lips when he realised it was both still functioning and too old to require a log in. Using the co-ordinates Dr Swann found to narrow down the search perimeters, the agent quickly realised that he could find Oberhauser – and hopefully Q as well. 

“I’m coming with you.” Dr Swann stated, staring at the screen.

But Bond objected before she had even finished speaking. “No, you’re not. I like you alive.”

“I can look after myself.” She glared up at him, determination written into her expression.

“That’s beside the point. I might not be coming back.” Out of principal if he failed to find Q alive. He’d blow the whole bloody place up if they’d killed him; fuck, he’d blow the place up if they’d even hurt him!

“I know. But I want to understand what happened to my father.”

“I don’t care. I’ll tell you whatever you need to know when I get back to London, but this is going to be a rescue mission.” He send a glare of his own at her. “I cannot be held back by wondering if you are safe when I’m looking for Q. I need to give this my full attention.”

“I can help.” She stepped forwards, her expression changing from determined to imploring; however, Bond refused to be swayed.

“No. You’d be a hindrance and you won’t want to be near me if you cost me Q.” Innocent party or not, he would not be kind. “His life is more important than your curiosity.”

Stated like that, Dr Swann was unable to object and she visibly deflated. 

“I’ll give you a number to ring: Eve Moneypenny. I trust her as much as I do anyone right now. Tell her I sent you.”

“I will.” She nodded, but being denied the chance to discover for herself what had happened to her father had caused her to shrink in on herself slightly. She seemed smaller as she helped him search through the maps that scattered the central table.

“This matches up, but it’s empty desert.”

“Maybe they are keeping your Q here.” She managed a gentle smile. “But if he has been with these men for the even the past day and a half, then I do not know how much of your friend will be there.”

“He’s a strong man. He’ll be there.”

But Bond really could only hope those words were true. After all, he had seen the creative streak they possessed when they wanted something. He’d been tortured, Vesper had been blackmailed, dictators ruined, countless other atrocities… Q was strong, and hopefully he would survive… but Bond had no idea how changed he might be. 

He turned to pack up the few things that had left his bag. He wasn’t going to sleep again tonight and they had an airport to get to.


	2. Chapter 2

“It is truly a fascinating thing, the brain. The whole of our being, dictated by something so small... So fragile.” Blofeld, or Oberhauser as he had once been known, had Q stuck on what the young man had originally compared to a Spartan dentist's chair when he had first seen it.

But now he didn’t care. It was far less comfortable than a dentist's chair and far more traumatic. Q still hadn’t told them how to track Bond and they were running out of patience – he couldn’t believe Bond knack for making enemies was going to get him killed though. Hopefully Bond would make it back alive and Moneypenny could rant on his behalf. 

“ _You’ll be the death of me one day_.” Q had joked on more than one occasion, usually when he was holding the bitter remains of his tech in his hands. “ _You’ll come back with some sorry tale about what has happened to my tech that I try so hard to make indestructible and the despair will wipe me out._ ”

“ _Nonsense Q, a fine you lad like you can surely outlast me_.” Bond would joke, usually half-flirting in the way he did with most people. 

“ _Not if you keep bringing back stuff like this. Where is most of it?_ ”

“ _Have you seen Moraine Lake? It’s absolutely stunning._ ”

“ _What does that have to do with this conversation?_ ”

“ _We could have a lovely weekend break together out there. You bring the car and I’ll do the driving. We can stop by where I last saw that particular gadget._ ”

“ _Give me your gun and leave before I’m tempted to design something that will drown you as well when you chuck into a Lake._ ”

“ _Oh, Q! I have to say, murder would probably ruin the mood._ ”

“But the brain is, as many would agree, the seat of your soul.” Blofeld was chattering away as though they were having a philosophical debate about consciousness down at the pub. He had been for some time, long enough for Q to recall hazily that Blofeld was the name Oberhauser had chosen to go by after his supposed death many years ago. “A man live inside his brain, do you not agree?”

Q disagreed personally, feeling overly aware of every ache and pain in his own body, the feeling of helplessness as he lay with his arms tied behind his back seeming to amplify every discomfort. 

“Now, James and I, we were present when a man was deprived of his eyes recently. It was most fascinating; a chance to see a man alive when he himself was no longer present.”

“No…” The boffin whispered, wishing the man would shut up. 

“James didn’t tell you?” He sounded perplexed and Q supposed his face would show innocent bafflement if he’d been able to see more than a peachy shape. “Word at the office is that the two of you are quite close. My friend over there has even heard there is a betting pool around you two.” His voice was filled with warm amusement, but this statement actually made Q feel a little better. Even Q had seen the chart that made the rounds on occasions, and there was one for any number of things. If this friend had only heard of it then he wasn’t deep in MI6 so much as deep in the merger, either someone from MI5 or someone who had been brought in at a high level with the Joint Security Service.

It made him feel better to know it wasn’t one of his lot, because he did have a tendency to trust them entirely.

There was a rattle of a wheeled computer table being pulled over, and the light voice filled the air again. “Someone such as yourself, I’ve no doubt you understand the importance of brains over brawn. While some people get by lumbering around without a single complex thought throughout the day, you and I engage in far more.”

A slide of a chair and footsteps over. “I’ve been told that you are the youngest quartermaster has ever had, the brightest person there. I wonder what it will be like to play with your brain…”

“If-If you do that… Then I won’t be able to help you.” Q’s voice had gone up in pitch, fear for his brain far more effective that fear for his body.

Two fingers trailed softly down his cheek, then up to stroke again and again as the man moved close enough for Q to see. “You don’t need your hearing to type, nor your ability to smell. Your balance isn’t even all that important so long as you have enough to be able to put those hands of yours to good use.” At this distance, that grin made Q shiver.

“If-If you think I’ll help you find Bond then you’re wrong. I don’t know what he’d done to piss you o-off so much, but I don’t care.”

“As his quartermaster, I’m sure you are aware that James lost his parents when he was young.” Blofeld pushed Q’s hair back gently, mindful to not tug at it. 

“As with many at MI6.”

“Yes… Do you know who took him in after the tragedy?”

“Yes. Hannes Oberhauser, from January 1983 until his death twenty six months later in 1985.” He’d learnt a fair bit about the Oberhauser family of late.

“My father,” Blofeld was unable to keep the snarl out of his voice, “taught young James how to ski, to hunt, to climb. I was never good at the more physical activities and so was something of a disappointment. I was supposed to treat this boy as a brother while he took my father from me.”

"How would killing your father make him like you anymore?” Q had been raised by his Grandfather in theory, but outside of private school he’d spent most of his time with his grandfather’s work colleagues; he’d ended up very close to one of them, but between the pain he was in, the fear he felt and the adrenaline that was going again in response to both of these and his determination to keep Bond safe, Q really couldn’t spare the energy to figure out someone else’s family issues.

“I decided to show him that brains really are more effective than brawn.” The man snarled turned to go back to his chair. “But he called me a monster and said he was glad that my mother was dead.”

“I can understand the sentiment.” Q replied, his voice croaky but the taunt was out before he could think it through.

“I am not the monster!” He snapped, coming over to glare into Q’s eyes. “I am far more intelligent than my father, more intelligent than James Bond and I can easily overcome you!”

“It was the brawn you hate so much that got me here.” His throat was dry and painful, but he didn’t dare swallow to try and relieve it with the man so close.

A finger stroked behind his ear, a fingertip tapping softly in one place. “Do you know that my needle can take your memories from you? These is a spot in the fusiform gyrus and then you will help me find James Bond because you won’t remember who James Bond is. You’ll have no idea he was every important to you.”

“Not if you’re sticking your needle in the wrong place you won’t.” Q had spent a lot of time and effort discussing different trackers. He’d been working closely with biologists and specialists such as neurosurgeons to work out the effects of nanotechnology in the bloodstream and whether or not it was likely to cause problems. Unfortunately for Q’s workload, more than one of the specialists had insisted he have a good understanding of the anatomy and functions of the human organs, including the brain and the heart. If Blofeld was wanting to drill into his brain, he really didn’t want him taking random guesses at where he was going.

Before the man had chance to answer, Q heard a door softly open. There was some whispering, too soft for Q to hear and then a laugh.

“It seems, my dear quartermaster, that your efforts have been for nothing. Dear James is on his way here anyway.” The man’s voice was gleeful, which was almost more terrifying than this attempts to threaten Q. “Put him back in his cell. When our guest arrives, move this one to one of the solar rooms.”

\------

Bond was tense as he sat alone in the back of a beautiful 1948 Silver Wraith, too on-edge to appreciate the car as he usually would. He leaned back as he typically would while being ferried about, affecting an air of nonchalance but it was a ruse. The agent was perfectly aware of what he could lose if he failed here: Q.

There has been one of Oberhauser’s men on the train, a large fellow who had been very nearly impossible to fight. There has been a brawl in which Bond had been outmatched, and then there had been a struggle in which Bond has nearly been shot with his own gun (and Bond could acknowledge that he really ought to try and get Q to fit his personal weapons with micro dermal sensors to avoid this particular problem again) then the conflict had ended with a sheep accidentally knocking Bond’s foe out the open door of the stock car– although if the agent discussed this with anyone then he wouldn’t mentioned the sheep.

The building that they pulled up outside didn’t resemble anything else he'd seen, not since leaving the airport. It was far more modern and well kept, and it was easy to imagine the well financed SPECTRE keeping residence here. 

"Good afternoon Mr Bond.” Bond was greeted as he stepped out the car by an average looking guy who spoke in a monotone voice. “I want you to know how excited we all are to finally meet you.”

Bond kept his expression blank. “Well, it’s a pleasure to be here.” He replied genially as he stopped in front of him.

“Your host invites you to rest, relax and join him for drinks at 9.” The man managed a slight, if brittle smile as he relayed the information.

“Tell my host that I won’t be late.” 

“Wonderful. Before we show you to your room, just one more thing.” 

A man stepped forward holding a platter and, once he was given an encouraging nod, the agent scowled slightly and handed over the weapon on his belt. “Careful with that. It’s loaded.”

Another man, clearly muscle, led the way to his room without speaking a word. Bond didn’t really care about conversation, but he was looking forward to a moment to collect his thoughts. The room seemed bland, almost Spartan in its decoration… except for one photograph, an intact copy of the burnt one Bond had in his own flat: Hannes Oberhauser with Franz and James. 

If he’d had any doubts lingering about whether or not this base in the middle of the Sahara belonged to his supposedly late foster brother, this would have expelled them. He glanced around the room, refusing to let his mind rest on it.

Beside the bed was his own suitcase, he knelt down to check everything was still in there when something else under the bed caught his eye: it was the striped jumper that Q had been wearing at the clinic. Pulling it out, Bond stared down at the fabric.

Q was here. Bond had known that he would be, but having it confirmed was worse than he had expected. “At least you know where he is.” The man half-breathed to himself. “No need to hunt out any other megalomaniac’s lair.”

But it wasn’t a comfort, knowing Q was here with someone who had likely killed his own father before setting up his own international crime syndicate. Pressing his face into the jumper, Bond took a deep breath to calm himself; Q would be fine. This jumper smelt of fresh sweat, after all, so he had been alive not too long ago; he likely still was as no one was going to kill him before they’d been able to taunt Bond with him.

A glance at his watch told him he had a little over an hour to get ready, and a plan was already forming. He opened his case and pulled out the carry-on that Q had left at the Pevsner; then he pulled a rucksack out as well. He put a change of clothing for each of them into the bottom of it, then jammed the still broken laptop in as well. Then he got passports and money for them both and the set of keys that were in Q’s case. Next went the boxes of medications that Q had brought, likely to get him through a flight… and after a moment’s hesitation, Bond decided to add his own first-aid kit too.

“Maybe a spare?” He got up and went into the bathroom. It was large, opulent and thankfully the medicine cabinet above the sink held a variety of painkillers, plasters, bandages and alcoholic wipes. He gathered them and stuff them into the rucksack too. Q’s mobile phone went in, then the book that Bond had in his own bag, and he began to shut it… then he paused and added toiletry bags in. 

He closed the drawstring and clipped the top shut before grabbing water bottles, filling them at the sink and adding them into the side pockets. “What else?” he muttered, before looping Q’s bootlaces through one of the straps and tying them together. Finally, he opened the top pocket and slipped in Q’s glasses case.

“Right.” He stood up and stripped off, grabbing his towel and heading for the shower.

The pounding water relaxed him as tried to prepare himself for whatever would come next… for whatever state he would find Q in. Bond already knew he’d bled enough to leave a trail of blood across that hotel room floor, but hopefully that was the worst of it. Realistically though, he knew that he’d have to prepare himself in case Q was in no state to walk.

Getting out and drying off, Bond put his fresh suit on the bed and pulled his underwear on, then he began stretching, rolling his muscles for get ready for lifting something more substantial than his weapon. He then knelt down and curled over as he took a moment to focus on breathing, pushing out his stomach before he went back to raising his core body temperature.

When he was done getting ready for physical exertion, he dressed smartly, fastening his watch in place and strapping back on his ankle holster. Once ready, Bond placed his rucksack beside the door and stepped out, following his silent guard into the open and across to a doorway in which the smarmy man who had originally greeted him was waiting. 

"This way, Mr Bond." But once he led them inside, he merely held the door to the open to the next room. When Bond entered, it shut behind him with an almost ominous hiss.

“You can touch it, if you like.” A soft voice spoke up in the darkened room as Bond stared at the open illuminated item; a lump of dark rock on a fancy stand. “Do you know what it is?”

“A rock.” Bond stated, an unimpressed look on his face as Oberhauser stepped into the light. “Where’s Q?”

“The Kartenhoff.” Oberhauser continued, as though Bond hadn’t spoken. “It’s a meteorite, the oldest in human possession. It made this very crater in which we stand.”

“It’s a rock.”

“So many years, alone and silent.” The man was apparently enjoying his chance to monologue, but Bond was talking in as many details as he could: the jeans, the stiff posture, the slight limp. “Building momentum until it chose to make its mark on Earth. A huge, unstoppable force.”

“Except it did stop. Right here.” Bond tried to play along, but he honestly didn’t care. He wanted to get his quartermaster and leave, preferably while reducing the place to rubble.

“I can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to this.” The man informed him, his face blank as he spoke. “Two foster brothers, reunited once more.”

“Perhaps. But we’re missing someone.” 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. He’s resting at the moment.” A door hissed loudly. “Shall we?”

As they walked across to the next area, Bond clocked the pipelines and barrels that were about, mentally noting the best places to make shots. He liked to have a plan for escaping in advance, hopefully it could be adapted to accommodate bringing Q along. 

Without a word, Bond was led into a room that reminded him of the IT branch at MI6, one long path down the middle with rows of computers either side, all shiny and clean and even more soulless than the MI6 branch managed to be.

Oberhauser stopped at one of the computers, and the man in front of it got to his feet. “Is this live?” he pointed to the man’s screen.

“No. Nearly 5 hours ago. 16:20 GMT.”

Bond looked at the screen. They had access to MI6 CCTV, visual and audio. Bond ignored both men in favour of watching M say good bye to what looked like mostly the admin team, with Moneypenny and Tanner standing silently behind him. 

“Well James.” Oberhauser spoke again, leading him down the aisle when M had finished speaking. “It looks like you’re all alone.”

“Not much more than a voyeur, are you?” Bond taunted him slightly, testing his temperament to judge how far he could push. “Too scared to join in.”

“I don’t quite think you understand.” Chuckled Oberhauser, but Bond interrupted him.

“Oh, I think I do.” He straightened up as they continued. “You set cities on fire and watch innocent people burn so you can convince governments to join an intelligence network you’ve paid for. Not that complicated. I’m guessing our little friend, C, he’s one of your disciples.”

It really was obvious. Bond rather wondered if anyone had asked where in the private sector the large donation for the new Centre for National Security had come from. Watching output that must have come from cameras inside MI6, it seemed obvious that Max Denbigh was the mole. Even if the South Africans had changed their mind about the Nine Eyes surveillance system after the attack in Cape Town, there wouldn’t have been enough time to set it all up yet; Oberhauser had someone in there already feeding him information.

“You could say that.”

“And what does he get out of it?”

“Nothing. He’s a visionary, like me.” Oberhauser stated, as though it was very simple but most admirable. 

“Visionaries. Psychiatric wards are full of them.” It was a word synonymous with maniac… and in this particular case, raving lunatic, it seemed.

“And yet you couldn’t see what was right in front of you. You came across me so many times and yet you never saw me.” He actually sounded a little bothered by that. Had the man been vying for his attention? “Le Chiffre, Greene, Silva.”

“All dead.” Not much of a network if they could be picked off one at a time.

“Yeah. That’s right.” The man smiled at him softly. “A nice pattern developed. You interfered in my world, I destroyed yours… or did you think it was coincidence that all the women in your life ended up dead? Vesper Lynd, for example.”

Bond glared at him in silence, wanting to ask about Q again, but unwilling to do so when the man was discussing destroying his world.

“I was surprised that you sent dear Madeline away. I met her when she was a little girl you know.” Oberhauser smirked at him, but Bond wasn’t attached to her in any way. She wasn’t the one he was here for. “Then of course, your beloved M. Gone forever.”

The man looked at him, his smile becoming a smirk and he let the hand holding his tablet fall to his side. 

“And now you’ve moved on, if gossip is to be believed. And soon you will lose that dear boy too.” He paused, as though waiting for Bond to speak, but the agent’s throat had clogged up so he simply stood tall and kept his face unaffected. “Me. It was all me, James. It’s always been me. The author of all your pain.”

Then he clicked something on his tablet resulting in the lights doing down and the workers standing up in silence, then without a word, they all filed out.

“Are you ready to have your world destroyed again? It was quite a mess you caused in Mexico, wasn’t it? Shall I remind you of what you will lose? We don’t have access to the more recent videos of Q branch, your beautiful quartermaster kept them well protected, but we have ones dating make to before he was even Q.”

On the screens above, an old video feed began to play. It was of old Boothroyd’s office, not the last quartermaster, but the one before him. The major was sat at his desk, writing something, though the video wasn’t clear enough to see what.

“ _Ah, 007. You’re back._ ” The door opened and a dark-haired man entered. Bond knew the face, had passed it several times when he’d been a junior agent, though he hadn’t realised this had been 007. It was a face younger than the one he had known.

“ _Q. I didn’t realise you knew what paperwork was!_ ” his voice was amused and the surprise comfortably fake.

Before either of the men spoke, a small boy pushed the office door open.

“ _You’re late. You missed the Dads and Lads weekend!_ ” The boy was small and skinny, clearly not yet into his teenage years yet, but he apparently had the attitude as he crossed his arms over his chest and scowled.

“ _Sorry Junior. Got held up in Russia._ ” The late 007 turned to accept the embrace that the boy forced on him. “ _Have you seen how much snow there is over there? Makes for slow traffic._ ”

“ _You never drive slow_.” The boy objected into the man’s chest.

The video cut off, but Bond kept staring at it. “From what we’ve found, it seems your new quartermaster is the grandson of the old one, and he’d been unofficially fostered by the old 007.” Oberhauser’s expression was one of curiosity as he looked back down at his tablet and tapped again. On screen, there was a professional photo of old Boothroyd as he sat beside the old 007, who had the young future Q in his lap. It was a far clearer image than the video had been, and Bond could easily spot the affection between the young boy and the 00 agent. 

“We also found this one.” It was a photo of Q at a university graduation, in his gown and hat with the agent’s arm around him as they both grinned happily. For all Bond considered Q very young, it was almost bizarre how child-like he looked in this photo in comparison with the Q that Bond knew; this one definitely did have spots. “I wonder if the gossip is right and you two are edging your way into a romance, or if he really is just replacing his old foster father with you.”

“You really have no room to talk about daddy issues.” Bond snarled, feeling protective of this Q that he had never known but who had clearly managed to maintain an edge of innocence, even while working at MI6.

Oberhauser smiled mildly at him and simply played another video, another one from Q Branch, this time showing Q nagging at people as he tried to update the computer systems… but then Bond watched as the previous Q came into the room and addressed the young man as Junior; this must have been after Boothroyd had died.

Then another video of the future Q trying to explain to the old M, Olivia Mansfield, what he had changed on a small, handheld device that Bond couldn’t quite see on the video feed.

Another video, and this one made Bond realise why he’d sent the others from the room. It was Q on his knees, wearing that tatty jumper that was in Bond’s suitcase right now. He was spluttering, sobbing, whispering “ _No_.” over and over, interspersed with swear words. Q’s head was pushed into a sink full of water, held under as he thrashed around.

“Where is he!?” Bond snapped, he turned and took a step towards Oberhauser, who watched as one of the guards stepped forwards.

“Play nicely, James, or you don’t get to see you dear quartermaster at all. Do we not want any more videos?”

“Fine.” He gritted his teeth and held himself still, ignoring the itch to draw his weapon and put the maniac down. “Let’s go see him then.”

The man signalled his guards, who stepped forwards to force Bond to his knees as they tied his arms behind his back, his _foster brother_ smirking as he watched.

Oberhauser walked at a very slow, leisurely pace as he led Bond back towards the guest rooms, past the turn off for the door Bond had stayed in and up a flight of stairs. It led to a steel room with high walls and no roof; there was only one door into the room, the one they had entered though. It had a slit in the door at about head height, probably to let others view whoever was inside.

“Where is he? Where is Q?” Bond demanded, his temper fraying badly.

“Your next door neighbour.” Oberhauser spoke in that pleasant tone again. He signalled the guards, and they pulled Bond back through the room and over to another door just beside the first. this too had a slit in it, which the men pushed him up against, allowing him to peer through into the next room.

It took Bond a moment to recognise the broken figure on the floor; Q was slumped in the corner, dressed in only a grubby t-shirt and the trousers that he had worn in Austria. His whole being froze as he stared in and saw the evidence of beatings, the gunshot wound in his lower right leg, the damage to his face… but he was pulled away before he could look his fill.

“He touchingly refused to help us track your special blood.” Oberhauser informed him conversationally. “The man is barely alive, but I saved him so you might watch each other die.”

Bond bared his teeth, beyond ready to grab Q and go.

“I’d really like to have stayed, but I’m on a rather strict schedule. We have a whole surveillance system to get up and running in less than 48 hours, and I do want to check everything is running as it should.” Then he grinned and looked up and the gap where the ceiling should have been. “Besides, there really isn’t anything to see. Too bright for the naked eye.”

The man turned and strolled out as one of the guards stepped forwards and knocked Bond out. As he blacked out, he missed Oberhauser wondering aloud whether or not they would wake before they began to burn alive with the African sun beating down on them in a metal room.


	3. Chapter 3

“Q?” 

The familiar voice cut through the fog of Q’s consciousness. It was hot and the air felt oppressive, but when Q went to kick off his duvet, he jolted awake with the pain. The sudden rush went as quickly as it came and his eyes shut again… It was still dark; far too early to be up. 

\------

“Q!”

There was that voice again, mused Q. It had drifted in and out of his dreams, sometimes holding the nightmares back, but at other times bringing the pain in his body to the front of his attention. It was warm, he decided, an uncomfortable, sticky heat that was really rather unpleasant; he could almost see how bright the sunlight was, despite having his eyes shut. 

“Q!”

The call brought awareness with it and Q slowly opened his eyes. They felt heavy and the pulsing headache behind them began to throb more fiercely as he shifted.

“007...” He replied softly, his voice hoarse from disuse as he convinced his body to remain awake. His throat hurt too.

“Q.” There was relief in that voice, clear as day to hear. “It’s getting bloody hot. Any ideas?”

“The watch… 007…” He answered, head starting to loll forwards.

“What?” 007 sounded more alert this time, his ability to find energy when needed was part of what made him a good agent.

“The watch… I lied about the watch.” He’d not told Bond outright that he’d made one or two changes to it, having been told that Bond was meant to be on downtime. Mallory had had enough of Bond mocking his authority and had told Q to show him the car that he was missing out on, to give him just a watch to help with timekeeping instead. While Q had been irritated to find that 007 had taken the DB10, he hadn’t been surprised. Instead, he’d simply outfitted 009 with the car he had been going to have originally before sneakily checking on where Bond had gone. The watch however, well… Q had knowingly given Bond an upgrade.

Bond hadn’t replied this time. “007.” Q called out again, his voice still weak even as he slowly lifted his arms to scrub at his face.

Moments later, there was an explosion causing the wall by the entrance to his cell to crumble and the doorframe to fall. A mere second after that allowed Q his first glimpse of Bond as the man disarmed the guard with a kick, the gun flying to land near Q. However, Bond then stumbled on rock as the guard fell back to land just outside of Q’s view. The boffin made a quick decision and scrambled towards the gun, planning to throw it to 007, but with the firearm in hand, he saw that the guard was raising another gun to the weaponless agent and the Quartermaster didn’t even think about his next action.

Q pulled the trigger and the guard slumped down, dead. Q watched in growing numbness as the guard failed to move again; he didn’t notice Bond approaching, even when the agent stopped in front of him.

“Sometimes a trigger has to be pulled.” Bond quipped, but the boffin didn’t respond…wasn’t able to. He could see the blood without even trying to focus on it and instead continued to stare at the space where the guard had been. His mind was roaring, a painful noise that drowned out everything else and the Quartermaster found himself entirely unable to think.

\------

“Q?” Bond stepped closer to the young man, one hand stretched out to take the gun as he crouched down. 

But Q didn’t reply, his wide eyes still focussed on the body of the man he had shot. The agent gently disarmed him before lifting his hand, pressing a rough palm to the younger man's scruffy face as he sought to distract him. 

“Damage report, Quartermaster?” but when Q flinched at his words, he switched to a kinder tone. “It's been a while since I saw you at that clinic. What do I need to know about?”

Q’s eyes drifted over to meet Bond’s and the older man could almost see his thoughts pulling together. “I... they shot my right ankle.” One hand fluttered near it, and Bond noticed that while Q had no socks on now, his feet with both bandaged up.

He hummed slightly so that Q knew he was listening, but he couldn’t quite put into words how annoyed he was; didn’t actually want to put it into words because if he started, he wasn’t entirely sure when he’d stop and they had to get away yet. 

“They burnt the bottom of my other foot so I don’t think I’ll be able to walk.” Bond couldn’t quite hold back his growl at that. “They’d gone for a change though and were being nice when Oberhauser decided he had time to see me though, so apart from an awful lot of cuts and bruises, my feet are the worst.”

“You’re doing very well for someone who can’t walk...” He pointed out, trying to keep his voice soft and pleasant. 

Q managed a weak smile. “The doctor here is a force of nature. He’s making them give me lots of nice drugs.” His gaze dropped from Bond's face back to his feet. “They have definitely started to wear off though.”

“Do you know what they gave you?” He asked as he began to consider the best way to get them both out. 

Q shook his head. “The doctor was shouting about morphine at one point, but I’m not sure whether that meant I got any or not.” The young man pushed his hair out his face and sighed. “I don't think we should hang around though.”

“Best not.” Bond agreed, a wry smile touching his lips for a moment. “Are your ribs well enough to handle me carrying you?”

“They’ll have to be. Oh don’t pull that face.” Q scoffed slightly, just missing the mocking tone he had likely been aiming for. “It’s not as though I’m walking anywhere. You’ll need to carry me. Turn around. My right leg is tender up to the knee but I’ll do what I must to get out of here.” Q’s face twitched into a melancholic expression that didn’t fade even as Bond turned his back. “I’d crawl if I had to.”

“Fortunately you don't.” Bond replied mildly as he felt Q’s arms scramble up around his neck. Patiently, he waited as the boffin squirmed about to get his legs about the agent's waist, then he stood up with only a small grunt at the blanket of heat that he now had plastered to his back in the already rising temperature. 

“How about we go find some air conditioning?” 

“He has air conditioning and didn’t share it? How cruel.” Q had his arms resting on Bond's shoulders as they set off, but his face was close enough that the agent could feel hot puffs of breath on his ear. It was oddly reassuring to experience. 

“Well, prisoners in the dungeon don’t get too many luxuries.” He joked in as light a voice as he could manage when he was having to carry with Quartermaster through enemy ground on his back. 

“Was more of an oven...” Q countered quietly, his voice slurring slightly as apparently his adrenaline rush ebbed away. Bond half wondered if it indicated how much Q trusted him that the boffin was so relaxed when in his care. “We need to get out of here.”

“I agree.” And he was quickly making his way through the complex; getting out of the base was no problem, but trying to cross the desert without provisions and a vehicle would be suicidal. “Any idea where Oberhauser keeps his cars?”

“Make sure you check the fuel of whichever vehicle you pick.”

“What?”

“I don't want to be stuck in the middle of the desert because you picked a nice car that ran out of petrol on the way. Remember to check the fuel gauge before we go.” Q wasn’t lifting his head anymore, and he was becoming heavier both because Bond was tiring and because Q was growing more lax. 

Bond was quickly retracing the steps he had taken when leaving the room they had originally housed him in, pressing the electronic door switch and finding the room wasn’t even locked.

“Right.” He slid Q off his back to lie slumped on the bed, and the sight of his Quartermaster so vulnerable made him pause for a moment, but he shook his head. He didn’t want to take much time getting away.

He stripped Q down to his boxers and noted that the young man had been truthful; his ribs were battered, but didn’t feel broken; the young man had been able to hang onto him without gasping in pain, so nothing too severe there and his face was swollen down one side with open wounds from where he had been hit. However while he was badly bruised and covered in cuts and grazes, his feet really were the worst part of him.

He hesitated for a moment, but decided to trust Q’s judgement when he said they had taken care of his feet; Bond really didn’t want to linger any more than necessary. Leaving the rucksack by the door for the moment, he fished the case out from under the bed that contained stuff he hadn’t been planning to take and grab a spare change of clothing for them both. 

It thankfully didn’t take long to stuff Q’s limp body into clean clothing, though he left the boots off for the moment, simply covering the bandages in clean socks. Fresh water from the sink helped to rouse Q and Bond used his more lucid moments to slip the backpack onto the boffin’s shoulders before getting the young man on his back again.

They passed only a handful of people as they moved back through the complex, mostly Oberhauser’s own boffins who had been running the surveillance on site but they gave Bond and Q wide berth without making eye contact. Apparently most boffins conformed to a stereotype regardless of who they worked for; those in Q branch often had similar behaviour (Q being one of the obvious exceptions). However, Bond supposed it definitely hinted at their intelligence, because he didn’t feel the need to shoot a single one of the boffins that scurried past them. 

Even so, Bond decided they needed information so the next one that they passed, the agent stepped in front of with a frown on his face. “Where does Oberhauser keep keeps his vehicles?”

“V-vehicles? His cars?” at Bond’s stuff nod he hurried on, “Basement lev- level 2.” And when the agent continued to stare he removed his lanyard and held it out “Here. It’s B2 on the lift buttons.”

And then the man pressed back against the wall, his eyes fixed to the floor. Q didn’t stir in his back, so Bond chose to follow the instructions he had been given. “Wait.” He suddenly spoke up before leaving, “which one is most likely to have plenty of fuel in it?” 

“Umm... The lotus? Oh wait, no. That’s had problems with the battery.” The man frowned slightly, his eyes flitting from one side to the other as though he was mentally reading a list of all the different cars. “Mr Largo has just returned from his trip and he does normally fill his car up and bring an extra container of diesel with him because he doesn’t want to get stuck out here.”

“Which car is that?”

“It’s the jeep wrangler, sir. The one with the white paint splashed over the bonnet. The keys are left in the glove box because no one would dare to take his car.”

“Excellent.” Bond said cheerfully. 

He thanked the boffin and strode off in the direction he had been pointed to. Hopefully even Q would approve of a jeep; if he’d been fully aware, he’s probably be happy with the way Bond had spoken to the boffin... though any compliment on that would no doubt be hidden in snarky comments. 

“B2.” He muttered as he pressed the button before leaning back to press Q against the wall. The young man had started slipping as they had headed down the corridor, having either dozed off or passed out; Bond wasn’t sure which but he couldn’t do anything about it now anyway. He simply adjusted his grip so that he could hold the Quartermaster more securely, took a deep breath and carefully exited the lift.

There was more than one 4x4 in this level of the basement, but the jeep with white paint over the front was easy enough to spot. 

The jeep was unlocked so Bond opened the passenger door and turned around, dumping Q into the seat before facing the man to manoeuvre long limbs into the vehicle. 

“Bond?” Q stirred as the agent tugged him forwards enough to remove the backpack, dropping that in the footwell beside Q’s damaged feet then buckling him in, but those tired eyes shut again once he saw that it was the older man.

“I even checked we have fuel, Q. So you’d better get some rest.” Bond said warmly he retrieved the keys; in the glove compartment was a map with pen marks on it and he took that too before moving round to the driver’s side. 

The map had a town circled on it and beside that were the makings that, on road signs, usually meant a train station. There were other things marked up, including what looked like the train station Bond had arrived at, but the town was a better idea as it would have food and water. Praying that Largo wasn’t writing in code in the map, but genuinely wanted to know where the nearest train station was, the agent started the engine and headed up the ramp and out into the grounds. 

By the gate was the boffin Bond had stopped and while the agent still approached, he did slide his jacket open enough to give easy access to the gun that was tucked into his belt.

“Here. These are the painkillers the doctor gave me.” He held up a small parcel. “I ... here. Sorry.” The man's eyes flicked over to Q and then away just as quickly. Bond easily spotted guilt in the gesture though it was possible the boffin also felt some kinship with Q, some empathy for a geek on the other side. 

As the man opened the gate for them, Bond supposed it didn’t really matter. As long as they got back home in a condition that was as close to intact as possible.

The drive was quiet; Q was dozing off the painkillers in the feeling of relative safety and Bond didn’t bother trying the radio. He still felt tense and the jeep wasn’t the most comfortable thing he had ever driven. Even so, they did at least make headway and after nearly two hours of careful driving Bond spotted a smudge on the horizon that wasn’t just his imagination.

“Yes.” He hissed, still too tense for a smile but he was flooded with relief nonetheless. 

Q hummed beside him, and Bond nearly startled to see him awake. They had been driving through the sweltering heat for some time as morning edged slowly on and Q hadn’t made a sound the entire time. Glancing at him now, the agent observed how stiffly he was holding himself – painkillers had clearly worn off then, but what he had given Q in the complex hadn’t been anything strong, just what he had had to hand. He would have a look at the parcel they had been given when they stopped. 

“I can see the town we're heading for.” He explained to the young man, a smile finally emerging when Q grinned through his own pain at the news. “We can have a look at the best options for getting home.” 

“I think...” Q’s voice was carefully controlled, but Bond could hear a myriad of tones in it, from stress to exhaustion to fear... “I would even board a plane if it meant air conditioning.” 

The piece of shit he was driving didn’t have working air con, although he had discovered it would happily blast hot air into your face if you tried to access it. If he’d been feeling better, Bond reckoned his own boffin could have fixed that problem, but he wasn’t letting Q move until he had to. It was probably a clear indicator of his own concern for thee young man, because Bond rather thought that even though they were heading into a town where they would get supplies before boarding a train, he would have gone to the tiny station he’d gotten off at when coming here and done without food if it meant avoiding this heat. 

“Are we going to the embassy?” Q asked as the town grew larger. 

“What for?” 

“I don’t know what happened to my passport.” 

“I have it. It’s in that bag.” He informed the young man. Q apparently hadn’t considered the fact that his own glasses were perched on his face, or that he was dressed in different clothes. “Trust me, Q. I’ll get us back.”

“I hope so…” but Q was settling back into his chair as comfortably as he could manage.

Once they were in the town, Bond stopped at a small shop to buy food and chat to the owner. He found that the train would leave in about an hour, an old noisy thing but he seemed to be fond of it in the nostalgic way that hinted at a story Bond didn’t bother asking about. He was also informed that it would take nearly two hours to reach the nearest airport, a much smaller one that the one he had arrived at, but the elderly man assured him that it would have a flight to England. 

Thanking the man and heading back to Q who was sitting under a nearby awning (They had abandoned the jeep as soon as they reached the town, the risk of it being recognised too high), Bond handed over some fresh fruit for him to enjoy as they headed to the station. It wasn’t a long walk, the town really only just larger than a village but Bond dragged it out anyway as he felt better with Q securely plastered to his back and the occasional breeze they came across on their walk. With only half an hour until the train was due, Bond climbed the small ramp that led to the raised platform by the tracks. 

“My own bed in my own home.” Q sighed into Bond's neck as the man crouched down to let him settle on the ground. “With my cats who won’t be pissed at getting left at the boarding cattery for so long. I’ve never left them for longer than two days. Whenever things get busy at Q Branch, I tell someone to go fetch them.”

Bond dropped to the ground beside him, their shoulders pressed together once Q had removed the bag and placed it in front of them; the two men sat together in silence for a while, paying no real attention to the handful of other people around them, beyond 007 assessing how much of a threat they were likely to be.

“Oberhauser had a cat. A white Persian. I hope it’ll be ok.” The young man mused after a while, his voice tired as he leaned more fully against the agent. 

“I didn’t blow the place up and people were left behind. It’ll survive.”

Q didn’t reply. He just sighed and rested more of his weight against the man. 

“Here.” Bond pressed a flask into his hand. “Drink up.”

Q pushed it away with a scowl. “I had a drink less than an hour ago. We don’t want to run out.”

“Then have some of mine.” The Irish accent made them both startle slightly, though Bond hid it better. “I’m sorry, I made you jump. Good morning.”

Beside them sat a priest, his white collar identifying him as his wide smile and familiar accent welcomed them. “Call me Harry.” He said, his open expression something Bond automatically wanted to find suspicious. 

“Quentin. At home I always say like the illustrator, but Roald Dahl isn’t so popular out here, it seems.” Q glanced at Bond and added, “This is James.” The boffin straightened up a little and the older man tried not to be insulted as the Quartermaster managed to respond kindly to someone butting in on them. 

“Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.” The priest quoted. “In places his books made very good points.”

“I’ve always liked them.”

“Are you boys out here for charity work? You seem to have had a tough time of it.”

“Just plain old work. Discussing roads for trade routes.” Bond watched as Q easily gave to usual excuse to be travelling in Africa. His wrinkled nose gave the impression that he found the work dull and there was no obvious hint of a lie. For all that Q had never been able to lie to Bond, he apparently had no problem with it on unimportant stuff to those they passed on the road. 

“Even so, it’s very brave of you boys to come out here. Folk aren’t always so welcoming of ... well...” Fr Harry looked uncomfortable as he tried and failed to say the word and it took Bond a long moment to realise that he thought they were gay. 

“I think two homosexual men is the phrase you’re looking for.” He stated coldly, somewhat annoyed that helping out Q had been translated in such a way. He was well aware of how dangerous it could be to be seen as homosexual in secluded regions. 

“I... I’m not sure that that... well, I didn’t mean to upset you.” The man replied, but he handed over his water bottle to Q anyway, making sure he drank before timidly holding it out to Bond, who shook his head. “Ah, that’s the train. Early today, apparently.” 

Q quickly slung the bag onto his back before climbing awkwardly onto Bond again.

The train carriage they entered was empty, Bond noted as he checked the compartments. The priest hadn’t bothered to follow them so they had the car to themselves, the thought of which made him relax a little as he helped his Quartermaster into a seat. 

“Do you need anything?” he asked, wondering if Q was in pain again. He’d given him some of the pills before they had left the jeep, but that had been nearly an hour ago; he wasn’t entirely sure where Q’s pain tolerance lay at. 

“Something decent to eat is probably a good idea for both of us.” Q said, shifting to sit upright as he once again removed the bag and began to hunt through it. “Go find us something?”

Bond stared for a moment, wondering if the other truly was alright after the difficult morning which had included shooting someone for the first time. However, Q seemed to be fine for the moment so, trusting that his moment of shock was going to resurface later, the agent headed out the door to search for the food car. Hopefully the little money he had in his pocket would suffice to get them some lunch.

It was second nature to flirt with the woman in the dining car when he went to ask about food, and soon enough the agent headed back to his companion. In the meantime, Q had gotten into his phone and was entirely absorbed in whatever he was doing, so the older man simply sat opposite him and pulled out the newspaper that he had collected. 

“I thought you were getting food.” Q remarked as he glanced up.

“I did. A hot meal each. I explained that you can’t walk so they’re bringing it here instead of making us go to the dining car.” He smiled at Q, feeling reassured that things were looking up as he noted that the swelling in the boffin’s face had gone down. 

“Dare I ask what we’re having?” Q asked dryly.

“We’re both on pasta, I’m afraid. Nothing terribly exciting.” There had been some wonderful steaks available, but Bond hadn’t wanted to risk having Q cut into one. It had taken him a while after his first kill to be able to stomach steak again, with red juices leaking out. 

“I’ve got us both booked onto a flight from Guelmim to London. It’s nearly a nine-hour flight but we’ll land in Gatwick just before eight.” Q informed him, and Bond realised what he’d been doing on the phone. “I’ve done the check-in, and as we only have the one bag then hopefully we’ll be through pretty quick.”

“I have a gun. It’s never a quick process.”

“I’ve sorted that.” Q smiled, but his eyes were a touch manic and Bond remembered Moneypenny telling him that Q was afraid of flying. He wondered if the need to sort out everything he could was a distraction from the flight. “You’ll need to let security have a look, but you have allowances for certain weapons on your passport which are controlled by me.”

“How fortunate I have you here then.”

“Indeed.”

They lapsed into silence but it was a comfortable one, the two men too tired to keep up conversation. The food when it arrived was simple, but adequate and both finished their meals. Q took both painkillers and his flight medication as the train approached the station before donning the bag and getting onto Bond’s back again.

“Sorry.” He apologised softly. “But in my email, I explained we’d been attacked so I can’t walk. We just need to collect a wheelchair so you aren’t carrying me all the time.”

Bond nodded and found that Q had been correct; once they reached the airport, a young woman helpfully brought a wheelchair over for Q to sit in. Bond smiled at her, giving her a warm smile, however it wasn’t enough to help them avoid all trouble; a man in a smart suit approached them. He identified himself as the district operations manager, but regardless of his title, he mostly seemed suspicious of the two men who had shown up sporting various injuries, some of which were quite noticeable. Although Bond supressed his scowl and kept up a charming persona, the suspicion didn’t abate until the manager was approached by the priest who both vouched for them and thoroughly distracted the man, leading him away.

“And that is why you ought to be nice to random people.” Q said haughtily, but Bond could hear the smirk in his voice. “You can avoid difficult situations if people think you’re a nice young man.”

“I am one, thank you very much.” He replied, a grin bubbling up as he pushed Q through to the security.

“Well, you can fake being nice I suppose, but honestly? Young is a matter of perspective these days. Maybe if you’re chatting to a rather generous elderly couple…” He laughed as Bond turned the chair around enough so Q could see him scowling. 

“Oi! Just you remember who’s in control of who here.” He growled, before the laughter escaped and he set the other man to rights. 

“Yes sir!” Q chirped cheekily as they continued one. “A young, loving soul in a battered old, grouchy body. Got it.”

Bond just laughed again. “I’ll let you off because of all the pills I saw you take earlier.”

“Then we’ll go back to London and kick C out on his arse. Try not to blow stuff up while we’re there though.”

“I’ll do the arse kicking. You figure out a way to stop the all-seeing surveillance system.”

“I’d make a start now if my laptop was working. Is Moneypenny picking us up? I’ll need to stop by my flat and get my spare one.”

“And then we can hunt down Oberhauser.” And Bond allowed a predatory grin to stretch menacingly across his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a priest in this one because I wanted someone to help them through the airport by virtue of simply being a nice person. He ended up being a priest (as opposed to a doctor, as was the original plan) when my beta and me ended up chatting about how ever priest we'd come across seemed to have lived in Africa at some point (and all of them seem to have lived in a different part).  
> I do apologise for any mistakes, my beta has done a wonderful job in putting up with me writing this on my phone and sending it to her with numerous my typos and autocorrects to work through.
> 
> Thanks for the lovely response from everyone so far :D It makes me very happy.


End file.
